


Hidden Things

by theirprofoundbond



Series: Hidden Things [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 13x22, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergent, Domesticity, Dreamhunter, First Kiss, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Minor Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak, Pining, Wayward, Wayward Sisters, Wings, brief canon-typical injuries, brief mention of canon-typical violence, brief mention of death, brief mention of trauma, dads, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theirprofoundbond/pseuds/theirprofoundbond
Summary: [Diverges from the tail end of 13x22.]Two years after everyone makes it safely back from Apocalypse World, everything is… great, actually—for everybody but Dean. The comfortable little life he’d been building for himself is in ruins, and now he’s drifting. When Dean is accidentally exposed to a potent spell, Castiel shows up to help him deal with the effects, and it’s finally time for some hidden things to be revealed.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Hidden Things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072952
Comments: 14
Kudos: 81
Collections: #ficwip 2020 gift exchange





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This story was based on a prompt from Ace, as part of the [ficwip 2020 holiday exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ficwip2020).
> 
> A few thank-yous are in order:
> 
>   * To my lovely friend and beta reader Jana, aka [wearingmywings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearingmywings), for your time, encouragement, and absolutely invaluable help with this story, _and_ the wonderful artwork at the end of Part III ❤️️
>   * To the [ficwip](https://ficwip.carrd.co) mods and community, for this event and for being such a stellar group of people ⭐️
>   * To [allthebeautifulthings9828](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828), for writing [one of my favorite fics ever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/981645). It’s such a comfort to me and I’ve read it so many times; I know it inspired and influenced my writing on this story 💐
> 

> 
> I consider this to be my first “real” story ever, so this all feels very special to me. I loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it ❤️️

**[May 2018]**

The portal in the middle of the Men of Letters’ library is a bright, sizzling wound in the fabric of the universe.

And everyone makes it through before it closes: Mary and all of the Apocalypse World refugees, Jack and Castiel, and even Crowley, who’d been resurrected by Michael in an attempt to gain access to their world. Sam and Dean and Gabriel are the last ones through, and the portal fades with an unceremonious crackling sound, leaving Michael and Lucifer behind.

That night, there is a feast. With a snap of Gabriel’s fingers, food covers every available surface in the kitchen, and people pile their plates high. They grab beers and bottles of stronger stuff, and spill out into the war room and the library.

The bunker is alive in a way it hasn’t been for decades. The air is electric with a heady mix of the edginess borne of living in an apocalyptic hellscape, and the elation of being safe, after thinking it wasn’t possible to ever feel safe again.

Castiel walks into the library, holding a beer Bobby had handed him. He looks around the room, and through the sea of unfamiliar faces he picks out the ones he knows.

Dean and Crowley are on the other end of the room, each of them holding a tumbler of whiskey. Remarkably, their conversation doesn’t appear to be hostile. Crowley has one hand in his pocket and Dean is nodding; Castiel can only guess at what they’re talking about.

Castiel’s roving eyes find two bright red heads of hair—Charlie and Rowena. The last time these two had been in a room together, it had been a different Charlie, and they hadn’t gotten along. Things are different now, though. Despite being worn down from her efforts to keep the portal open, Rowena’s eyes are bright with amusement, and she laughs at what Charlie is saying. Charlie chuckles and sips her beer, and Castiel remembers the bottle in his hand and takes a drink.

Finally, he sees Sam and Mary and Jack clustered together. Sam’s hand is on Jack’s shoulder, and Mary is holding Jack’s hand, and Jack is looking from one to the other as he talks, a pained expression on his face. Castiel knows he is talking about Lucifer. Evil incarnate or not, Lucifer was still the biological father Jack had just begun to warm to in the other world. Now that Lucifer has been left behind, they’ll need to be there for Jack, to help him process his sense of loss and be the family he deserves. Castiel watches Sam and Mary, and feels a swell of warmth for them—two people who have experienced the worst of Lucifer, and love his son without hesitation.

Castiel takes another drink and when he lowers the bottle, Gabriel is at his side, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leaning in close.

“I gotta head out, bro,” Gabriel says.

Castiel frowns and turns to him. “You’re leaving?”

Gabriel straightens up, pulling his arm from Castiel’s shoulders. “I was a prisoner for like, eight years, remember?” He rolls his shoulders a couple of times. "I need to stretch my wings, Cas.”

Castiel looks out at the room and his eyes fall on Jack. “He could use your guidance, Gabriel.”

“Why? He’s already got you for a father. Can’t think of a better angel for the job than you,” Gabriel says, and for once his tone is serious.

“Well, it’s not as if there are many of us left,” Castiel says.

“I’d still mean that even if Heaven was what it used to be. _Especially_ if it was what it used to be.” Gabriel steals Castiel’s beer and takes a swig. “Anyway, those goofy Winchester boys probably make one parent between the two of them, so there’s that, too. He’s not alone.”

“No, he’s not alone.” Castiel turns to Gabriel and says firmly, “But none of us are archangels.”

Gabriel holds up a placating hand. “I’ll only be gone for a little while. Just long enough to get my head on straight, so I can be there for the kid. I know Heaven’s a mess, and Dad’s not coming back anytime soon, so Jack is gonna be the one to fix things. I’ll be around to help, don’t worry.”

Castiel nods. “Good.”

“We need to watch out for rift openings, too,” Gabriel says softly. “Can’t let those dickbags wreck our world.”

“I’ll tell Jack to keep his senses alert,” Castiel says.

Gabriel claps a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Okay, good talk!” he says, his voice jovial once more. “Listen, don’t have too much fun without me.”

“I’m sure you’ll have enough fun for all of us, whatever you get up to,” Castiel says dryly.

“You’re damn right I will,” Gabriel says gravely. “Look after everyone for me,” he adds. “I like these guys.” Gabriel takes a sip of his stolen beer and clears his throat. “Especially SAM WINCHESTER!”

Sam looks over in confusion. Gabriel raises his beer and winks slowly at him, in a way Castiel is certain could be described as “seductively,” then adds an air kiss, all while holding eye contact.

Sam’s mouth drops open, his face a combination of bewildered and flustered. Mary looks up at Sam, clearly unsure what to make of Gabriel’s theatrics, and Jack breaks into a grin, making Castiel smile. Gabriel chuckles, and then with a soft rustle of wings he is gone.

Castiel’s wings tense reflexively, as if wanting to pull him into flight, too. But despite the instinctive longing of his useless, broken wings, Castiel is exactly where he wants to be.

His eyes find Dean across the room, and he is surprised to see that Dean is alone now, leaning against a bookshelf, staring at Castiel while sipping his whiskey.

Castiel’s chest fills with a deep ache, a different kind of longing, and after a few moments he is the first to look away.

* * *

**[June 2018]**

Charlie gets her hands on a computer and requests that she be left alone, because she has work to do.

In the meantime, everyone pitches in to help the refugees get settled: turning disused rooms around the bunker into bedrooms, going on supply runs, and researching the lives of the refugees’ counterparts from this world so as to avoid any complicated encounters.

After a month, the activity is dying down and people are starting to talk about figuring out long-term plans. It’s around this time that Charlie quietly pulls Mary, Sam, and Dean into Dean’s room.

Sam is temporarily sharing with Dean because another family is borrowing his room, so Dean’s bed is shoved up against one wall and there’s a cot on the opposite wall. Weapons, toiletries, and paperwork are jammed onto every available surface. It’s clear that a quiet battle for space is being waged.

“Right, so,” Charlie says, smiling wearily. She looks at them in turn, takes a deep breath, and goes on. “I know people have been wondering what we’re gonna do next, because we can’t all just live on top of each other in a bunker forever, but we don’t need to worry anymore.”

“You came up with a plan?” Mary asks.

“More like, I came up with the thing you need to _make_ plans,” Charlie says with a smile. “Money is no longer an issue. For any of us.”

There’s a moment of silence as this sinks in, and then Sam says, “How did you—”

“Listen,” Charlie says quickly, holding up one hand, “what I did wasn’t easy, and it _definitely_ wasn’t legal. No one got hurt or anything like that! But I think the less anyone knows, the better. I’m not a very good liar, so please don’t ask me any questions.” She looks at Sam with wide, imploring eyes.

Sam laughs softly and nods. “Right, got it.”

“Anyway,” Charlie says, “I’m sorry it took me this long, but in fairness to myself, I did have eight years of technological advancements to get to grips with. I got there in the end, though.” She beams, clearly proud of herself.

“No apologies needed, Charlie,” Dean says, giving her a brief but tight hug. “You did great.”

Charlie’s reply is suddenly swallowed by a huge yawn, and she laughs. “If no one needs anything else from me, I think I’m gonna go sleep for a week.”

“You’ve certainly earned it!” Mary tells her. “I'm the last person who’d have any idea what you did, but thank you for all of your hard work.”

“Go get some rest,” Sam says, clapping Charlie gently on the shoulder. “We’ll figure out the details later.”

* * *

**[June-December 2018]**

Over the course of several months, they get people set up with identity documents, permanent housing, and a sum of money—enough to help them get started in their new lives and have some security. Not everyone leaves; some of the refugees have taken to hunting and they decide to stay, either remaining in the bunker or close by.

Charlie and another hunter named Stevie decide to move to Seattle together, but they promise to keep in touch. Before they depart from the bunker, Charlie insists, multiple times, that if anyone ever needs anything they can call or text her any time, and finally Dean has to tell her to get in the car and go, or else.

Despite the gradual drop in the number of people living in the bunker, the level of activity stays the same as the place transforms from emergency housing to bustling headquarters.

Hunters are sent out in pairs or parties to take care of cases, and hunters from farther afield visit for information or a night’s rest and a hot meal before hitting the road again.

One thing no one seems to be hunting much of is demons. Demonic activity and possessions have seen a steady, ongoing decline for more half a year now. 

The Winchesters, Castiel, and Jack are all in the library discussing this one day, and theorizing about the reason for the change.

“What if it’s Crowley?” Jack asks suddenly.

There is a brief silence as they consider the idea, and then Mary says, “Right before you were born, Jack… Crowley said that if we helped him cage Lucifer, he would close up Hell for good. Do you remember that?” Mary looks between Sam and Dean.

“I remember,” Sam says, and Dean is nodding.

“He may be a demon, but he does keep his word,” Castiel says. “And we put Lucifer away.”

Mary nods. “And got him back to this world. Crowley spent a year with us over there,” she says. “And it was a hard year—I don’t need to tell you that.” Jack is nodding earnestly. “Maybe after being there, after going through that with all of us, he just... doesn’t want to contribute to the suffering of the living, anymore.”

“He did seem different when I talked to him, that night we all got back through the portal,” Dean says thoughtfully. “Less of a jerk.”

“So maybe it is him,” Jack says.

No one disagrees; unusual as it is, it appears to be the most likely answer.

* * *

**[January 2019]**

One of the people who begins to pay regular visits to the bunker is Rowena. It doesn’t take Dean long to notice that when she makes an appearance, Sam seems to spend a lot of time with her, away from everyone else.

Dean finally mentions it one day when he and Sam are, in a rare moment, alone in the kitchen.

“Rowena’s been coming by a lot, huh?” Dean says casually.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Sam says.

“What’s that about?” Dean asks, his eyebrows raised in a way that implies he isn’t sure he wants to know the answer.

Sam rolls his eyes. “It’s not like that,” he says, shaking his head. He’s silent for a few seconds and Dean doesn’t say anything, sensing that Sam might elaborate, and right now Dean’s curiosity is greater than his desire to tease.

Finally, Sam says, “Rowena and I… We’ve bonded, I guess. Uh, shared trauma, you know. From Lucifer.”

“Oh.” Dean is surprised. “Right. I’m, uh… sorry,” he says.

Sam shrugs and changes the subject. “She’s been teaching me magic.”

Once, Dean would have struggled to accept this, but now he just smiles as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “Does this mean I get to call you Samwitch?”

“ _No_.”

* * *

**[March 2019]**

One day, Rowena arrives at the bunker accompanied by a dark-haired woman with a slight but playful smile.

It takes Sam a beat to recognize her, and when he does, he drops the heavy book he’d been flipping through. It lands on his foot and he winces, and Eileen laughs.

Sam crosses the room to her. “Eileen?” he says breathlessly, his expression soft with amazement.

“Hi, Sam,” she says, grinning.

Sam wraps her in an enormous hug, his eyes squeezed shut, and he holds her for a long moment.

When he opens his eyes again he sees Rowena watching them, looking immensely pleased with herself. He steps away from Eileen so she can see their conversation, and he says, “You brought her back?”

Rowena smiles. “I am a very powerful witch, Samuel.”

“Rowena…” Eileen says, her eyebrow raised.

Rowena rolls her eyes. “Alright, _fine_. Gabriel helped. He’s quite fond of you, Sam. But I _am_ a very powerful witch.”

“Yes, you are,” Sam says with a grin. “Thank you, Rowena.”

Rowena smiles and signs, “You’re welcome.”

* * *

**[November 2019]**

Sam and Mary are taking a walk in the woods near the bunker one afternoon, and Sam is marveling at the remarkable, deceptive simplicity of it all. They’re not hunting a monster in these woods, they’re strolling in companionable silence. And his mother died before he could ever remember her, yet here she is, with her arm in his.

Eventually Mary breaks the silence, saying, “It’s been more than a year since we all came back through the portal.”

“Yeah… It’s kinda hard to believe,” Sam says. “So much has happened.”

“You know what I’ve been thinking?” Mary says, looking up at Sam.

“What?”

“That if Michael and Lucifer could get to our world, they would have done it by now.”

Sam considers this, then he says, “They’re not the type to bide their time.”

“No,” Mary says, shaking her head. “To be honest, I think they probably destroyed each other after that portal closed.”

Sam looks at her, his expression grim. “I hope you’re right.”

They walk on in silence for a few more minutes, and then Mary stops. “Sam.”

Sam stops walking, too. “Yeah, Mom?” he says, turning to her.

She reaches up to touch his cheek, smiling. “I’m so proud of you.” Sam smiles at her, and Mary takes one of his big hands in both of hers. “I’m proud of who you are, and everything you’ve done. You and your brother. You got us out of that place, and you made sure everyone was taken care of once we got here. And you’re still hunting, and I see the way you’re a leader, with everything that’s going on at the bunker. I hope you know I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Sam says softly.

She squeezes his hand and smiles a little sadly. “But I never wanted this life for you boys. I hope that maybe, now that things are more stable, and you’ve got a network of support… that you might consider…” She trails off and gestures vaguely with one hand. “Something more for yourself. I know you’re an adult, and I respect whatever decisions you make about how you live your life, but I wanted to tell you that.”

Sam nods, and it takes him a moment to speak because he’s fighting a swell of emotion. “I hear you,” he says. “And to be honest, I’ve been thinking the same thing, kind of.”

“You have?” Mary says, her expression hopeful.

“Yeah!” Sam says, grinning slightly, relieved to finally say it. Mary links her arm through Sam’s and they start walking again, and Sam slowly puts into words the thoughts that have been swirling in his mind for the last few months. “I don’t think I could ever quit hunting, and I know Dean couldn’t. But I like to think that maybe I’ve gotten to a place where I don’t have to do it full-time, you know?” He glances down at Mary and she nods.

He continues, “That money that Charlie secured to help us all out—there’s some of that for us, too. Eileen and I have been talking about getting a place in town, or maybe further away—but not _too_ far away. We’d still be on rotation for hunts and everything, but… we could do other things, too.”

“You could. I really like Eileen, Sam. I know you know that, but you hang on to her.” Mary looks up at Sam, her eyes serious.

Sam grins. “I’ll hang on to her for as long as she’ll have me. What about you, though?”

“Oh, I was thinking about moving out, too. I just didn’t want to do it until I knew you boys were settled on whatever path you wanted to take. I’m happy for you, Sam. So long as this is what you want.”

“It is what I want,” Sam says firmly. “Dean, though…” he trails off thoughtfully. “I’m not so sure.”

Mary nods. “I know,” she says quietly.

* * *

**[March 2020]**

“You’re moving out?” Dean says, incredulous, and he sounds like an idiot because these are the exact words Sam has just said.

“Yeah,” Sam says patiently. “Eileen and I found a little house in Cawker City—”

“You’re moving to a place called _Cawker City_?!”

“Dean.”

“Oh, my fucking god.” Dean drags a hand slowly down his face.

They’re sitting on Baby’s hood on a warm, sunny afternoon, parked at a scenic overlook on a twisty little highway through the mountains. Dean gives his head a small shake and gazes out at the view, and Sam remains silent next to him.

Finally, Dean says, “So, what, you telling me this now ’cause that was our last hunt together? You’re retiring?”

Sam breathes out a small laugh and shakes his head. “No, that wasn’t our last hunt together, and no, I’m not retiring.”

Relief blooms inside Dean. It’s not enough to blot out the other feeling, the one he can’t deny is fear, but he swallows hard and looks over at Sam.

“Cawker City’s right on a lake, and there’s a state park nearby,” Sam says. “It’s nice. And it’s like, a half-hour from the bunker.”

Dean nods and takes a few moments to find the right words. “I know you and Eileen are serious,” he says finally. “And I’m sure you don’t wanna build a life in a bunker with a bunch of hunters coming and going all the time.” The words are hard to say, but he means them, and the smile that brightens Sam’s face makes saying them worth it.

Dean reaches over and briefly grasps Sam’s shoulder. “You deserve the world, Sammy. I want you to have whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” Sam says quietly. They both look out at the mountains, and there’s a pause. Inside, Dean’s just about to tip over the edge into an abyss of uncertainty about his own future, when Sam casually yanks him back. “You ever think about what you want?”

A million thoughts crash through Dean’s head—or maybe it’s just one—but what he says is, “I dunno. I wanna keep hunting, I know that.”

“You know,” Sam says, “Mom’s thinking of moving out of the bunker, too, getting her own place near us.”

“Mom, too?” Dean’s expression is pained.

“Maybe it’s time we all moved out.”

“I dunno, Sam…”

“I don’t just mean you and me and Mom, Dean. I’m talking about Jack and Cas, too.” Dean looks over at Sam, surprised, and the fear churning inside of him recedes a little. Sam goes on, “I’m not sure the bunker is the best place for Jack to grow up. I feel like he should have… fresh air, and experiences that don’t revolve around hunting. I was talking to him the other day and he said he thought he might like to go to school someday. Have a pet. Normal kid stuff.”

“He’s not a normal kid.” The reply is automatic, but Dean speaks in a neutral tone, rather than the obstinate one he used to use, back when he hadn’t trusted Jack.

“I know that,” Sam says, faintly exasperated. “We all know that; we’ve had this conversation a hundred times. But if that’s what he wants, why shouldn’t he have it?”

“Sam Winchester, ever the advocate for normalcy,” Dean says, but there’s no malice in his voice. He just smiles a little and shakes his head.

Firmly but gently, Sam says, “Don’t be a stick in the mud just because you’re scared of building a life for yourself that looks different to the past fifteen years. And don’t deny you’re scared, because I know you. It’s okay to feel that way, but you should know that I think you deserve the world, too, Dean.”

Dean sighs and leans back against the windshield, arms folded, and Sam voices the tentative thought that is surfacing in Dean’s mind. “The three of you could live together. Have a more balanced life, you know? I think it’d be good for all of you.”

“Man, I don't even know where to start with the jokes about that scenario.”

“Come on. Our entire lives have been weirder than a guy, an angel, and a nephilim living together. You already live together, anyway, there’s just a dozen other people also living with you.”

“Yeah, and speaking of which: you know how I like my own space.”

“You do like your own space.”

“Yeah, I do, and I’m proud of what we’ve done with the bunker, the network—all of it. But I gotta be honest: the place hasn’t really felt like home for a while, now. So, y’know. Maybe it’s not a bad idea, moving out.” He pauses, then nods decisively. “I’ll talk to Cas when we get back.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now would you shut up and enjoy this view?”

* * *

**[June 2020]**

They buy a three-bedroom farmhouse in the country.

It’s a modest place, a little run-down and far from perfect, but it’s got a big yard, tall trees, and a roomy detached garage. And it’s well-situated: their neighbors are far enough away that no one can get nosy, and they’re about halfway between the bunker and Mary, Sam, and Eileen—a twenty-minute drive either way.

They move in as summer is heating up. It’s a long, sweaty day, but everyone’s there to help get it done: Dean and Castiel and Jack, Sam and Eileen, Mary, and a couple of hunters who are visiting the bunker. That night, they all sit on the floor of the living room, eating pizza and drinking beer, swapping stories and laughing.

The visiting hunters head off early, and Sam and Eileen and Mary stick around for a while longer. Everyone exchanges hugs in the driveway before they leave, tired but happy. After they drive off, Jack rushes upstairs to his new room, beaming with excitement.

As Dean steps inside and closes the front door behind him, he lets out a long, slow breath, and when he looks up, there’s Cas in the living room doorframe, watching Dean, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat.

Cas is wearing a small smile, along with one of Dean’s old T-shirts and a rough pair of jeans; Dean had insisted he borrow them that morning.

“You can’t comfortably help carry furniture in a damn suit, Cas,” Dean had said with a grin, tossing the clothes at Castiel.

Cas’ eyes are bright and his hair is a little messier than usual. He’d scratched his arm earlier that day while carrying a bookshelf, but the cut has already healed, leaving a dark red smudge, and Dean’s eyes are drawn to it, to the bare skin that’s always buried under trenchcoat and suit jacket and dress shirt.

Dean drags his eyes back to Castiel’s and smiles nervously. “Well, here we are. Home sweet home.”

Cas smiles at him. “Here we are.”

* * *

**[June-August 2020]**

Dean stays busy with hunting and helping Sam manage operations at the bunker, and Castiel, back to wearing his usual trenchcoat, helps Jack understand and use his powers. Dean, Castiel, and Jack all come and go as they need to, but they make time to have dinner together and to watch TV as often as they can. They’ve decided to work their way through all the series of _Star Trek_ , in chronological order.

Although Dean doesn’t talk about it, he loves the quiet of their little place, loves planning the week’s meals, loves coming home to them.

Every now and then he misses Sam, but Sam’s not far and he’s also happy, and that’s enough to help Dean get over the feeling when it surfaces. That, and the times when it’s just him and Cas.

Sometimes Dean will come downstairs in the morning to find Cas sitting at the kitchen table working on the laptop, with hot coffee already poured for Dean in his favorite mug—one he’d stolen from the bunker, with the red design around the rim. Sometimes they sit in the living room— _their_ living room—and talk about potential cases, or nothing at all. Sometimes they go for late-afternoon drives on the country roads, the windows rolled down and the radio turned up. Sometimes Dean cooks certain dinners just because he wants Cas to try them.

One morning late in the summer, Dean is pacing slowly up and down the kitchen, talking to Sam on the phone.

“So is dinner at your place or Mom’s?” Dean asks.

“Mom’s this time,” Sam says.

“You bringing the dog?”

“Nah, she’s still settling in.” Sam pauses and then his voice sounds further away. “That’d be too much excitement for you, wouldn’t it, Callie? Yeah.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Hey, you’re talking to me right now, not her. Anyway, you’re gonna have to have Jack over sometime because he can’t wait to meet her. He keeps talking about it.”

“Yeah, he texted me yesterday to say he hoped ‘the three of us’ have a wonderful day. It was sweet.”

“He’s a good kid,” Dean says. “So, yeah—Sunday.”

“Yeah. Oh, I’ll email you the files about the thing in California, but I think I found someone out there who can look into it. And they said they’re good with being added to the network, too.”

“Damn, I was gonna get some In-N-Out while I was there,” Dean says. “But no, that’s good. We’ll see you Sunday. And tell Eileen I like her better than you.” Dean smirks and hangs up before he can hear Sam’s reply, then goes to pour himself a cup of coffee.

He looks out the kitchen window and sees Jack in the yard, with his hand pressed to the trunk of a tree. He’s just standing there, looking down at the ground. Dean watches him for a moment but Jack doesn’t move.

Castiel walks into the kitchen and Dean says, “Hey, what’s he up to out there?”

Castiel comes over to peer out the window. “He’s talking to the plants.”

“Looks like he’s having a heart to heart with that tree, if you ask me.”

“They’re all connected. It’s called a mycorrhizal network.”

Dean grunts at this and sips his coffee, and they both watch Jack, although he hasn’t moved at all.

“His powers are growing at an incredible rate,” Castiel says quietly.

Before Dean can respond, Jack looks up and sees them through the window, and smiles and waves.

Dean smiles and waves back, then nudges Castiel. “Wave,” he says, so Castiel waves, too.

* * *

**[September 2020]**

Jack gets to work just as the leaves are beginning to turn.

He asks for Sam and Dean’s help for “a mission,” and takes them to a strange camp in the woods near Sioux Falls, where a young woman who looks exactly like Kaia Nieves is waiting for them.

Jack explains to Sam and Dean that Kaia is alive and they must rescue her, and this woman needs to get back to her own world. Without any visible effort, Jack opens a rift to the other world, and then one by one they all pass through it.

In a matter of hours they are delivering Kaia, shaken but sturdy, to Jody’s house. Jody, stunned, wraps Kaia in a hug and tells her that Claire is on the road but she’ll be home soon.

“Thank you,” Kaia tells Jack with a small smile, and she nods at Sam and Dean.

Soon after this, Jack is gathering the ingredients for a spell; he won’t tell Dean or Castiel what it’s for, only that it is one of his own devising.

One night, Dean and Castiel are in the living room. Castiel is reading in his armchair, and Dean is slouched on the sofa. The TV is on, the volume low, but Dean’s only half-watching it.

“Hey,” Dean says.

Castiel looks up at him.

“Do you think we should be worried? About whatever Jack’s up to, with his spell?”

“No,” Castiel says with a shake of his head. “He spent an hour showing me his rock collection yesterday. I think whatever he’s doing, he’s just… learning.”

“Huh,” Dean says. “Well, alright.”

One day, Jack requests that Castiel and Dean take him to the playground where Heaven’s gate is located. He sits in the middle of the back seat on the way there, with a long cloth-wrapped object laid across his lap; it nearly touches either door. When Dean asks what it is, all Jack says is, “You’ll see.” But he smiles and, with a hint of pride, adds, “I built it myself.”

When they get to the playground, Jack asks Castiel if he will give him some of his grace, and Castiel agrees, filling a small vial.

Jack instructs them to stand back, and they watch as the glimmering vial of grace in his hand transforms into a silvery, burning arrow. He unwraps the object to reveal an impressive bow, and Dean looks on in fascination as Jack lifts the weapon with calm purpose, nocks the arrow, and draws the bowstring back.

Jack’s eyes are glowing golden now. He aims the arrow at the center of the sigil in the sandbox and chants something in Enochian. Castiel leans over and murmurs in Dean’s ear, “‘By my beating heart,’” and a shiver zips up Dean’s spine. He can’t tell if it’s the tickly warmth of Cas’ breath or the words themselves, but he doesn’t have time to think about it, because Jack releases the arrow and there’s a blinding flash of light.

Dean raises his arm to shield his eyes, and then the light is gone, and Castiel is stepping away from him to go to Jack, who has fallen to his knees. Dean rushes to follow.

Jack lifts his head and smiles wearily as the glow in his eyes fades.

“Are you alright?” Dean asks, a concerned hand on Jack’s shoulder. “What did you do?”

“I reopened the gates of Heaven,” Jack says. He sounds drained, but otherwise he seems to be fine.

Castiel wears a proud expression; he smiles at Jack and pats him on the back.

When they get home, Dean and Castiel have to help Jack into bed, and he falls asleep immediately. Dean is worried, but Castiel reassures him that he’s alright.

Dean looks down at Jack’s peaceful face and wonders what he’ll do next.

The following morning, Jack greets Dean in the kitchen with his usual wave and proceeds to pour himself a bowl of cereal. Dean is relieved that he doesn’t look exhausted anymore.

“Hey, Jack, how you feeling, after yesterday?”

Jack sits down at the table. “I’m fine,” he says, taking a bite of cereal. “I was very tired yesterday but I feel much better now.”

Dean leans against the counter. “I’m leaving tomorrow to take care of a case in Michigan, so I was thinking we could go fishing today, if you want. You should take it easy after everything you’ve been up to, huh?”

Jack nods enthusiastically. “I’d like that. Can Cas come with us?”

“Yeah, Cas can come with us, if he wants.”

Castiel walks into the kitchen. “What am I being invited to?”

Jack turns to him. “We’re going fishing!”

“I wouldn’t want to miss out on that,” Castiel says, smiling at Dean over Jack’s head.

* * *

**[October 2020]**

Before Dean leaves for Michigan, Castiel says, “Please be careful.”

Dean is shrugging on his coat, and he looks over at Castiel, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter watching Dean. Light is streaming in through the windows, the shadows of the leaves on the trees are dancing on the walls, and the blue of Castiel’s eyes burns into him. Something about this moment feels so delicate that Dean can’t bring himself to answer with his usual flippant bravado. “I will,” he says, holding Castiel’s eyes for a few long seconds.

And he is careful, but what they’re hunting turns out to be a large pack of Nachzehrer. He hasn’t even changed out of his Fed threads when it goes sideways. Before they manage to kill the alpha and restore the pack’s humanity, there is a brutal melee, and Dean experiences a close call that leaves him hurt—not too badly—and shaken—badly.

When it’s over, he gets in the car and starts driving, and he feels the tug of home for every mile of the journey—so much so that he doesn’t stop for the night. He pulls onto their road as the sun is coming up, and as he nears the house he’s hoping, with an intensity that shocks him, that he’ll see Castiel’s truck in the driveway.

It’s there.

He pulls in and leaves his things in the car, just goes straight to the house. He unlocks the door and his hands are shaky, and his heart is pounding, and he doesn’t really know why.

When he gets inside and finds that no one is on the ground floor, he goes upstairs to Castiel’s room and knocks on the door.

Castiel opens it and Dean freezes and they stare at each other.

“Hi,” Dean says. “I’m home. I just got home.”

Castiel is about to reply when he frowns instead. “You’re hurt.” Dean lets Castiel pull him into his room and he says nothing as Castiel takes in the blood staining his dress shirt, his missing tie, his battered face. The seconds stretch out between them.

Finally, Dean says, “It looks worse than it actually is.”

Castiel steps closer and his fingertips, featherlight, find the edge of the shallow slash on Dean’s throat. He pushes Dean’s collar aside, exposing the length of the ugly mark.

Dean turns his head, allowing himself to be examined, and a few moments pass while Castiel stares. The wound isn’t deep—it’s already scabbed over and Dean doesn’t need to be healed. But Dean knows that they’re both thinking the same thing: if the blade had sliced just a little deeper, he’d have been gone in seconds, life gushing from him in an unstoppable red tide.

Dean takes a deep breath; he closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Cas’ fingers over his pulse. “I’m fine,” Dean murmurs.

Castiel is silent, and then he finally says, “Your heart is beating very hard,” and his voice sounds strange.

Dean opens his eyes and looks at Castiel, whose expression is completely neutral.

“It was a… close shave,” Dean says, swallowing and smiling weakly. He takes a step away from Castiel.

“Dean, that’s not funny,” Castiel says softly.

“Are you alright?” Jack asks from the doorway.

Dean turns and Jack is frowning with concern.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He clears his throat and adjusts his shirt, feeling in some way like they’ve just been caught. “Yeah, I’m alright,” he says.

Dean glances at Castiel, but he’s not looking at Dean.

“I’m gonna get cleaned up and get some rest,” Dean says.

Later, Dean falls asleep on the couch in a patch of autumn sunshine. He wakes up briefly as Jack lays a blanket over him.

“We’re going out,” Jack says, “but we’ll be back in a while.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Dean mumbles, shifting to get more comfortable. Eyes half-closed, he watches them leave the room, listens to their low voices in the kitchen. Their kitchen.

He thinks, _I’m happy to be home. I’m happy I’m here with you_. He isn’t sure if it’s a prayer; he doesn’t necessarily intend for them to hear it, but he doesn’t mind if they do. He hears the door close and he drifts back to sleep, warm and content and _happy_.

The feeling is humming beneath his skin when he wakes a couple of hours later, and it lasts all afternoon—as he makes himself a big sandwich, and unpacks his bag, and washes the journey from Baby, leaving her as gleaming as he feels inside.

The feeling lasts until Castiel and Jack get home.


	2. Part II

**[December 2020]**

The day after Christmas, Stacy’s is empty at 4:30 pm.

Except for Dean.

He’s sitting in a corner booth next to the window, leaning over a cup of coffee with both elbows resting on the table. Cars rush by on the nearby interstate as the snow swirls endlessly down and the light fades, but Dean isn’t aware of any of it. He stares into his coffee, hands curled loosely around the mug, and his mind is avoiding the reason he’s in a random diner over a hundred miles from home.

_Because it’s not home anymore._

Dean closes his eyes, jaw clenched, and pinches the bridge of his nose for a long moment.

Finally he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. Outside, the light is nearly gone, and from the looks of the weather, the roads might be a little tricky.

Home, not home—whatever it is, he figures he should get there. Whether Cas or Jack will be there, he doesn’t know, but at least his bed will be waiting for him.

Dean stands wearily, a small sigh escaping him, and he tosses a crumpled bill on the table next to the coffee, cold and untouched.

* * *

When Dean gets close to the house he doesn’t bother looking for Castiel’s truck. When Cas had stopped using it and winter was drawing in, Dean had finally snatched the keys from the hook in the kitchen and moved it into the garage himself, so he didn’t have to see it every damn time he pulled in the driveway.

There are lights on in the house, though. A slight warmth fills Dean, but it’s not enough to dislodge the blank expression on his face.

He parks the car and heads inside, and Jack is waiting for him in the kitchen.

“Dean,” Jack says, smiling a little uncertainly.

“Hey,” Dean says, glancing at him. He pulls off his coat and tosses it over the back of a chair, then goes to the fridge and opens it.

“Jody called. You, uh… left your cell phone.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Jack gesture to the phone Dean had left lying on the counter. He’d briefly considered taking it and then he’d thought, _Fuck it_ , because it wasn’t as if anyone was going to be wondering where he was. “I was worried it might be an emergency so I answered it; I hope that’s alright.”

There isn’t much in the fridge. He should have eaten on the way home, but he just hadn’t had the appetite. Dean closes the fridge with a small frown.

“Dean?”

“What? Oh, yeah.” Dean sits down at the table and rubs his forehead. “Yeah, no, that was good. What’d she say? Is everything alright?”

Jack sits down across from Dean, and Dean’s eyes slide away from him; he looks down at the rough surface of the kitchen table instead.

“Yes! Everything is fine. She was inviting us to come and see her and the girls,” Jack says with a small smile. “Donna spent Christmas with them and Patience is back for the holiday break, so everyone is there.”

“Full house, huh?” Dean is rubbing mindlessly at a whorl in the wood grain. “That sounds nice.”

“Can we go?” Jack asks hopefully. “I’d love to see them.”

Something softens inside Dean. “She say when?” he asks. He sounds gruff. He clears his throat and tries again, looking up at Jack. “When we should visit?”

“She said anytime! We could leave tomorrow, if you don’t have anything else going on.”

“Yeah, we can do that. I’ll call her back and tell her we’re coming.”

“Great,” Jack says, beaming.

Jack gets up and is about to leave the room when Dean asks over his shoulder, “Hey, you want something to eat? I think I got enough to do grilled cheese sandwiches, and I might have some soup in the cupboard.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Jack says. “Can I help?”

Dean smiles and goes over to the cupboard. “Nah, it’s fine. You can hang out here or do whatever you want. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“Alright. I’m just going up to my room for a second, and then I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Dean says. Jack leaves and starts up the stairs, and then Dean follows to call after him. “Hey, Jack?”

Jack pauses and turns on the stairs to look at Dean, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

“Cas isn’t around, is he?” Dean asks.

“No.” Jack shakes his head.

Dean nods; he hadn’t really expected anything different. “You wanna watch _Star Trek_ after dinner?” Dean asks.

Jack frowns. “Don’t we only watch it when all three of us are here?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine if we only watch an episode, right?”

Jack appears to consider this, then says, “I think we should wait for Cas.”

Dean feels a prickle of frustration. _Okay, except Cas is never here anymore._ But he doesn’t say that; he just nods and says, “Sure, okay.”

Jack takes another step up the stairs, but then he stops again and turns back to Dean. “By the way,” he says, and for a second Dean wonders if there’s something Cas had wanted Jack to tell Dean. But Jack says, “Jody said we were welcome to stay up at the cabin for a little while, too, if we want.” He smiles. “I thought you might like that. I know you like having space to yourself.”

“Oh, uh… yeah,” Dean says. “Thanks.”

Jack nods and goes upstairs, and Dean listens to the silence in his wake.

Maybe he will go up to the cabin—it might be good to get away from the house and all its emptiness. He can take some time for himself and think about what he wants to do—because he isn’t sure he can do _this_ anymore.

* * *

Upon arriving at Jody’s, Dean is seized in a big hug by Donna, and she squeezes him so hard he bursts out laughing. It feels good. Everyone in the house ends up in the front entryway to greet him and Jack, and it turns into a big muddle of hugs.

The younger set drifts into the living room where a big Christmas tree is still set up, and Dean follows Jody and Donna into the kitchen.

“Where’s Alex?” Dean asks.

Jody makes a rueful face as she pours him a glass of water. “You just missed her. She’s working a twelve-hour shift today so she won’t get home till three-something in the morning, probably.” She passes Dean the water and he drinks it gratefully.

“She’s off tomorrow, though,” Donna adds.

“Ah,” Dean says. “I was kinda thinking I’d head up to the cabin tonight. Um, just me, if it’s alright for Jack to stay here with you guys.” Dean smiles and keeps it light. “Just kinda wanna clear my head, you know?”

“You settin’ some new year’s resolutions?” Donna asks, eyebrow raised.

“Oh, yeah.” Dean nods, grinning. “You know it.”

Jody waves a hand. “Of course Jack can stay with us. But it’s already after three and it’s a couple hours’ drive. Why don’t you stay the night? We’ll have dinner together and catch up and you can get up to the cabin tomorrow morning.”

“Do you guys even have the space here?” Dean asks, frowning.

“Let’s see,” Donna says, and she lists everyone off on her fingers. “I’ll bunk with Jody—if that’s okay with you, Jodes,” and Jody nods. “Patience is sharing Alex’s room while she’s home. Claire and Kaia share, and I think the girls were talking about Jack sleeping on the floor in there anyway. That leaves the pullout sofa. So, yep, we got the space!” She gives Dean a sunny smile, and he can’t help but smile back.

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” he says.

That night the dinner table is crowded but they make it work. Dean is mostly quiet, listening to the banter and basking in the energy of the group. Jack tells them stories about his travels and unusual experiences with Castiel and Gabriel, and because he’s surrounded by the glow of good company, it doesn’t dampen Dean’s mood the way it usually does. 

Among the stories of Diwali celebrations in India and the wildlife in Loango National Park in Gabon, Jack tells them about the time he and Dean and Cas went fishing, and it takes Dean by surprise—so much so that when Jack smiles at him from the other end of the table, all Dean can do is smile back at him.

After dinner is finished and they’ve had dessert—the most delicious brownies Dean’s ever tasted—Donna and Jody insist on cleaning up.

“We’re fine!” Donna says, shooing Dean out of the kitchen. “We got a bottle of wine in here, you go spend some time with the kids.”

So Dean wanders into the living room. The regular lights are off and the Christmas tree is on; the colorful bulbs wink serenely on and off, and the atmosphere is restful. Patience and Jack are sitting cross-legged on the floor by the tree, deep in conversation. Claire is sitting at one end of the couch and Kaia is sprawled down the length of it, her head in Claire’s lap.

Dean sinks into an armchair with a sigh.

Kaia rolls onto her side so she can face Dean, and Claire says, “Hey, old man,” with a teasing half-grin.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he says lightly.

“How’s semi-retirement?” Claire asks.

“Semi-retirement? Where are you guys getting your info from? I’m not ‘semi-retired,’” Dean says indignantly.

Claire shrugs a shoulder. “My name’s on the bunker roster, too, y’know. So I can see how often you’re on duty.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going out more than you are,” Dean retorts.

“ _Yeah, well_ , I’m also going to school?” Claire says.

“Whatever,” Dean mutters. “I’m on every other week, what more do you want from me.”

Claire just smirks and Dean realizes she was trying to get a rise out of him.

“Alright, enough with the snark,” Dean says. “How’s school going?”

Claire’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “It’s good.”

“She made the Dean’s list this semester!” Kaia says, grinning. She glances up at Claire and sticks her tongue out at her. “She doesn’t like to tell people, so I’m bragging for her.” Claire rolls her eyes but she’s smiling, and she starts playing with Kaia’s hair.

“Kaia doesn’t like to tell people that she’s been making _excellent_ progress with dreamwalking,” Claire says, shooting Kaia a look, and now it’s Kaia’s turn to roll her eyes.

“That’s different,” Kaia says. “School is a thing you talk about with people. Dreamwalking is not.”

“Whatever,” Claire says.

“Claire’s been helping me with it,” Kaia says. “And it is going really well.”

“Well, awesome,” Dean says.

“And _Patience_ is kicking ass at Dartmouth,” Claire says, and Patience looks over at the sound of her name and smiles, embarrassed at the attention.

“No, literally, though,” Kaia says. “She’s doing kickboxing. But she gets amazing grades, too. All without using her powers.”

“You know I don’t control my visions,” Patience protests. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t use them to _cheat_.”

“Relax,” Claire says with a smile. “We know you’re a genius with a heart of gold.”

Patience smiles and rolls her eyes and goes back to talking to Jack.

“And Alex is a workaholic, which is why she’s not here right now, but we still love her,” Claire finishes.

“You guys are doing great,” Dean says earnestly. “It’s really good to see.”

“How are you doing?” Claire asks. “For real.”

“I’m fine,” Dean says, shrugging.

“Uh-huh,” Claire says, her tone flat.

“What? I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

He rolls his eyes. “I work, I watch TV, keep my Baby in good condition… what else can I say?” He shrugs again, feeling a little defensive. “Me and Jack went over to Sam and Eileen’s for Christmas with them and my mom. We did gifts, had a big dinner, the whole nine. That was good. So… yeah. I’m good.”

“What about Cas?” Claire asks.

“What about him?” There’s the faintest edge to Dean’s voice, but Claire doesn’t seem to notice.

“He did Christmas with you guys?”

“He wasn’t there.” Dean glances away.

There’s a pause, and it’s just starting to become awkward when Claire says, “Well, don’t worry. He always turns up again.” She slips her hand into Kaia’s, and both girls offer Dean a sympathetic smile.

* * *

Dean is woken by the smell of coffee.

He rubs his eyes and checks his phone; it’s six in the morning. He sits up on the sofa bed and stretches, then grabs his bag and gets changed in the downstairs bathroom.

When he goes into the kitchen to greet the early riser, he finds it’s not an early riser at all.

“Hey,” he says to Alex. “You just getting home from work?”

She smiles ruefully. “Yeah. Sorry if I woke you; I was trying to be quiet.”

“No, you didn’t wake me. The coffee did. Are you really about to chug some caffeine after a twelve-hour shift and overtime?” Dean asks, his eyebrows raised.

“No!” Alex laughs softly and turns on the stove light so they’re not in the dark. “I’m gonna have a snack and go to bed. Just figured I’d make it for anyone who wanted it.”

Dean pours himself a cup while she puts a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. “Well, thank you very much.” There’s a wrapped Christmas gift sitting on the table and he moves it aside to sit down with his coffee. “Sorry we missed you yesterday. I gave everyone else a hug so I got one with your name on it, whenever you want to collect.”

Alex smiles. “Speaking of things with names on, that’s for you.” She gestures at the gift.

“For me?”

“Yeah. Sorry it’s a little late, but hey.”

“Hey, no, that’s okay. My birthday’s in January, so let’s say you’re early. I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you,” Dean says, suddenly embarrassed.

“Relax,” Alex says. “Open it.” Her toast pops out of the toaster and she turns to it, ready with a jar of strawberry jam.

Dean tears the wrapping paper from the gift, revealing a book. He reads the title, eyebrows raised. “ _Vegetarian Dinner’s in the Oven: One-Pan Vegetarian and Vegan Recipes_. Huh.”

Alex sits down at the table across from Dean with her toast.

“So, you know I’m vegan,” she says. “And I know you’re Mr. Red-Blooded American Man” —Dean laughs at this and she grins— “and you love your burgers and everything, but in my experience, there are two types of vegan food.”

“Uh-huh?” Dean asks, interested.

“You know the first kind: it’s trying to pretend it’s not vegan. Hot wings made out of cauliflower and that kind of thing.” She takes a bite of her toast. “I’m not a huge fan of that.”

“Okay, so what’s the second kind?”

“It’s food that just happens to be vegan. It doesn’t feel like it’s missing anything or trying to be anything other than a delicious meal.”

Dean makes a non-committal sound.

Alex raises her eyebrows, as if rising to a challenge. “Those brownies you had last night? Vegan.”

“Shut up,” Dean says, surprised.

“Yeah.” She smiles smugly.

“Well, damn.” Dean opens the book and flips through it. Every recipe has a picture, and some of them do look pretty tempting.

“I love that book,” Alex says, finishing her toast. “And Jody says you’ve been cooking a lot, since you guys moved into the new house. So I figured, why not. Never hurts to try new things, right?” She smiles at Dean.

“Yeah, true,” Dean says. He smiles wryly. “Unfortunately I’m not doing a whole lot of cooking these days.”

“You been busy?”

“No one to cook for,” Dean says. He keeps looking through the recipes, but he’s not really seeing them anymore. “I mean, Cas doesn’t actually need to eat, and Jack doesn’t eat that much,” Dean says, “but I used to make dinner for the three of us all the time.”

Alex pushes her plate aside, then leans forward and rests her arms on the table.

Dean closes the book and looks at the cover, then sets it carefully aside. Alex still hasn’t said anything, so he finds himself filling the space.

“Ever since Jack fixed Cas’ wings, the two of them haven’t been around much. They’re always off doing… I dunno, angel stuff. So…” He trails off and shrugs.

“I think I know how you feel,” Alex says, smiling sympathetically.

“You do?” Dean looks at her.

“Well,” Alex says, heaving a thoughtful sigh. “Jody and Donna are a little like Jack and Castiel. Best of friends, spend a lot of time together. Claire and Kaia are a couple, so that’s like Sam and Eileen. And Patience is my best friend; she’s like a sister to me. But she’s away at school for most of the year. I guess that’s kinda like your mom—she’s off doing her thing and you’re happy for her, but you miss her, right?”

Dean sips his coffee and says, “Huh.” It’s not a bad parallel.

“And then there’s us. And what do we do with ourselves?” Now Alex smiles wryly. “Work.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean says.

“Patience says I should go to medical school and become a doctor,” Alex says.

Dean smiles. “Maybe she had a vision of you.”

“Maybe she did!” Alex laughs a little. “I don’t think she’d tell me if she had, though. She’s pretty secretive about her visions. I think she knows I’d want to figure things out for myself. I haven’t ruled out being a doctor, but I do like being a nurse. Just like you love hunting. And we both love our families. So overall, things are good, right? But sometimes…” She shrugs.

“Yeah,” Dean says.

Alex smiles. “I know I’ll figure things out. I’ve got a house full of people who love me, and Patience is always just a text away. But what about you? Your family’s not far away, but if you’re in that house by yourself all the time, that’s no good, right…?”

“Well, I was gonna spend some time figuring that out, actually,” Dean says. “Jody said we could use the cabin, so I was thinking I’d head up there this morning on my own and spend a few days there. See what I come up with.” He smiles as he finishes off his coffee; his conversation with Alex makes him feel understood, and even a little optimistic.

He glances at the clock on the stove. “I might as well hit the road now.”

“And I’m going to get some sleep,” Alex says. They both stand and push their chairs in. “But first I’m gonna need that hug.”

Dean bear-hugs her and says, “Thanks for the book. I’ll try it out and let you know what I think, okay?”

“Yeah, please do. Here, let me give you the rest of the brownies to take with you.”

“Hell yeah,” Dean says with a grin.

* * *

Dean gets to the cabin around nine. He sends Jody a text to let her know he’s arrived safely, then turns off his phone and slips it into his coat pocket. He takes all the groceries inside in one trip and puts everything away.

Finally, he grabs his duffel from the car, locks her up, and hurries into the cabin. There’s no snow on the ground yet, but it’s close to freezing and he doesn’t have any interest in standing around in the cold for longer than he has to.

Inside, he puts his things away in the master bedroom, then finds the thermostat and cranks the dial. He settles onto the couch with a heavy blanket pulled tightly over his shoulders while he waits for the heat to kick in. His eyes fall on the fireplace, and there’s a big basket of firewood sitting next to it. So he gets up again and builds a fire, then lights it with relish.

He sits back on the floor as it catches, and soon the heat is hitting his face with delicious intensity. He moves to the couch and stretches out, the blanket draped loosely over him as he soaks up the warmth.

Dean watches the flames for a while; he isn’t sure for how long, but it doesn’t matter because these next few days are his. He lets his thoughts wander, and inevitably they zero in on the moment everything had changed: Castiel and Jack, coming home that day he’d gotten back from the hunt in Michigan.

The hurt flares up sharply inside his chest as he remembers Castiel’s smile, as Castiel had told Dean about Jack healing his wings. He remembers Jack’s smile, too, and he remembers not being able to smile at all, not being able to breathe.

He remembers the rush of shame, his lip split and his face mottled with bruises as he stood in their run-down little house, desperately trying not to think of it now as shabby. How could he have ever forgotten their divinity?

And then, only a couple of weeks later, Castiel was telling Dean gently—as if it were a favor to him—that he wouldn’t be around as much, anymore.

“You can have the house more to yourself,” Castiel had said.

“Okay,” Dean had said, refusing to look at Castiel, pretending to focus on an oil change he could do with his eyes closed.

Dean stares into the fire. He’s gotta move out. He’s gotta find somewhere new, somewhere there aren’t happy memories ruined by bad ones—or just plain sad ones.

Castiel and Jack can keep the house, if they want it. Jack needs Cas more than he needs Dean, anyway, and it wouldn’t be fair to uproot the kid if they don’t have to.

But Dean can’t handle pulling into that driveway again, hoping there might be someone waiting inside the house for him. He can’t do it.

Dean closes his eyes with a sigh, and at some point, he falls asleep.

* * *

When Dean wakes up, he feels deeply well-rested, like he’s slept for a long time. But he knows it was only a short while, because the fire is still crackling happily away with the same energy as before.

He sits up on the couch, rubbing his face, and then he freezes.

The light is different—like it’s late afternoon. Dean gets up and goes over to the window, and he’s taken aback to see a dusting of snow on the ground.

In the kitchen, the clock on the stove reads 3:47. He was asleep for _five hours_?

He turns back to the blazing fire, which should be embers by now.

“What the fuck…?” he mutters.

Dean goes to the bedroom and fumbles through his coat pockets for his cell phone. When he turns it on, there are seven missed calls from Claire.

He calls her back immediately, and she picks up on the first ring.

“Hey,” he says urgently. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Is Jack okay?”

“ _What_?” Claire’s voice is incredulous. “We’re fine! Are _you_ okay?” she demands.

Dean’s got a fluttery, nervous feeling in his stomach.

“There’s… there’s something going on, here.” Dean is cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear now, digging through his duffel for his gun. “I lost some time. And the fire’s weird.”

“Did you burn the firewood in the basket?” Claire demands.

“What?” Dean asks, rifling through his clothes. Where the fuck is his gun? There it is.

“You burned the firewood in the basket, didn’t you?”

Dean straightens up and grabs the phone again. “Yeah? So?”

Claire’s voice fades a little as she pulls the phone away from her mouth and speaks to someone else. “Yeah, he did.” Then she’s talking to him again. “Those logs are spelled! We use them for Kaia’s dreamwalking.” She groans loudly. “We didn’t know you were going up there, otherwise we would have told you.”

“Okay, so…” Dean looks down at his gun. “What you’re saying is, I don’t need my gun.”

“No, you don’t need your gun.” Dean can hear the eyeroll in Claire’s voice.

“Hey, back off,” Dean grumbles. “I didn’t know what was happening.” He returns his gun to his duffel and goes back out to the living room, where he sinks onto the couch and, despite the situation, enjoys the warmth of the fire dancing over his skin.

“Okay,” he says, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. “What do I need to know? Am I about to be tripping balls?”

“I don’t know, maybe? Hold on a sec, I’m putting Kaia on.”

There’s a pause as Claire hands the phone to Kaia, and then Kaia says, “Hi, Dean.”

“Hi.”

“Uh, so like Claire said, those logs are spelled. You’re not a dreamwalker so you probably won’t experience anything too weird—”

“‘Probably’?”

“I mean, I don’t know; this is a spell Rowena made for us and anytime we use it, Claire wears a protection charm so it doesn’t affect her.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “How long have you guys been messing around with magic?”

Dean hears Claire’s voice in the background. “Tell him to shut up and listen, god.”

“I heard that,” Dean says with a scowl.

“Okay, so then shut up!” Kaia says.

Dean blinks and shuts up.

“The way the spell works for me is, it helps me… see details more clearly. The paths for dreamwalking, things I need to see that I might not be able to without the spell. I don’t know if I can describe it any better than that. And I don’t know how the spell is going to affect you.”

“Well, I fell asleep and nothing weird happened. No dreams.”

“Everyone dreams when they sleep, even if they don’t remember it,” Kaia says.

“I know, I know,” Dean says impatiently. “I meant no weird dreams, no dreams I can remember.”

“I guess it’s not affecting your dreams, then.”

“Okay, great. What’s going on with this fire? I lit it, fell asleep for like, five hours, and it’s still going strong.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s part of it. It’ll burn for two or three days. See, when you fall asleep and you’re going through your sleep cycles, the longer you sleep—”

“The longer your REM cycles get, and the more dreams you have,” Dean interjects. “I know that.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Kaia says, “the logs kind of work like that—they build a cumulative effect. The longer they’ve burned, the longer my dreamwalks are.”

“Will putting the fire out stop the spell?”

“Uh, you can’t put it out.”

“Well, that sounds safe.”

“It’s a _magical_ fire. The firewood only burns itself. There’s no risk the cabin’ll burn down or anything like that. We’re not idiots.”

“Right, yeah, okay. Anything else I should know?”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“I feel totally fine.”

“We can send Jack up there… I’m not sure you should be alone right now…”

“The whole point of me coming up here was to be alone,” Dean says. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well… you might wanna get some fresh air, at least.”

“Alright, I will. And if it makes you feel any better, I’ll call if anything weird happens. But I don’t think it will.”

“Okay. I’m putting Claire back on, hang on.”

Dean waits for a second, and then Claire is saying, “Dean, she’s right. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Claire, I promise you I’m fine,” Dean says.

“You don’t know how it’s going to affect you! Don’t be a dumbass.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I just need a few days to myself, okay. I’ll call if anything funky happens. _Do not_ have Jack come up here. If you do that, I will not be happy. Got it?”

“Dean—” 

“I’m hanging up, now, Claire.”

“Dean!”

“Bye bye,” Dean says loudly, and then he ends the call and turns his phone off again.

He scrubs a hand down his face, gives himself a minute, and then stands up. Time to go get some fresh air.


	3. Part III

Outside, the cold seeps into Dean and he shudders, but he sucks in a lungful of icy air. He welcomes its sharpness, and the way it chases away the warm fuzz that had settled over him during those hours in front of the fire.

The sun is low in the sky, and he takes the little path behind the cabin down to the lake, making the first tracks through the snowfall.

He stands at the just-frozen edge of the lake for a long time, hands stuffed in his pockets, breath pluming before him. The winter stillness, settled over everything around him, envelops him, too. He thinks about the decision he’d made before falling asleep earlier: moving out, moving on.

He knows it’s what he needs to do.

Still, his heart wrenches to think about everything that comes next. Finding somewhere else, somewhere small that only needs to accommodate him. Packing his stuff up. Driving away for the last time. And having to explain to everyone else that it wasn’t right, wasn’t working.

Dean inhales deeply and his eyes sting; he wants to blame it on the cold air, but he can’t. He tilts his head back, blinking until his eyes clear, and he gazes up at the sky. There’s a sliver of moon rising opposite the red-streaked clouds that follow the sun as it sets.

He thinks about celestial objects, and beings. Loneliness expands inside of him like celestial nothingness. He shivers and clenches his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering.

There is a rustling sound somewhere behind him; it’s a sound he knows well.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean closes his eyes and breathes against the surge of hurt and anger. But despite everything, neither of those are a match for the desperate relief he feels at the sound of that voice.

So he says, “Hey, Cas.”

He refuses to turn around, though, just hunches his shoulders against the cold.

Dean hears Castiel take a step closer to him. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dean says testily. He’s shivering but he takes a steadying breath and tries to suppress it.

“I got a text from Claire… It was… a little confusing, but she said you’d been exposed to a spell of some kind. They were worried and asked if I could check on you.”

God _damnit_.

Castiel takes another step closer. Dean grits his teeth and swears that if Cas touches him—

“Dean, it’s very cold out here,” Castiel says, concern in his voice. “I think we should go inside.”

And that’s when Dean decides he’s had enough. “Listen,” he says sharply, hands balled into fists.

“Dean—”

Dean whirls around, finger raised. “I don’t need you to…” He freezes and slowly drops his hand, staring at Castiel, lips parted in stunned silence.

Castiel is standing there, palms out, as if he’d been expecting to grapple with Dean.

And a pair of enormous black wings are outstretched behind him, mirroring the cautious posture of his arms. Glossy black feathers catch the light, tinged red by the low winter sun, and the sight takes Dean’s breath away in a long exhalation that billows in the air between them.

“Your—” Dean breaks off and draws a breath, at a loss for words.

Almost.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and something inside of him is twisting, wrenching, and he understands, now, what people mean when they describe something as so beautiful that it hurts.

Castiel frowns, but Dean senses this rather than sees it, because he can’t take his eyes off of Castiel’s wings. “I’m… what?”

Startled, Dean meets Castiel’s eyes, but then his gaze is pulled back to his wings. “Your wings are beautiful,” he says, his voice hushed with awe, all traces of anger washed out of him.

Castiel’s eyes widen. “You can see them?” he asks. He relaxes a little, his outstretched wings lowering slightly.

Dean doesn’t answer; instead, he reaches out a hand, stark white with the cold he’s forgotten all about, and brushes the edge of one feather. “Can you feel that?” he asks softly, drawing his fingertips slowly down its length, marveling at its texture, and the way the vane ripples under his touch, and how the feathers surrounding this one seem to quiver.

He glances over at Castiel and finds that his eyes are closed, and for a second he appears to lean into Dean’s touch. But then his eyes fly open and he steps backward, pulling his wing away from Dean’s hand. “Yes,” he says, and there’s a momentary wildness in his eyes before he shutters his expression.

“We’re going inside now,” Castiel says flatly, his wings folding against his back.

Dean stares at them as they settle, and then looks into Castiel’s eyes. “No.” His teeth start chattering but he takes a step back, out of Castiel’s reach.

Castiel clenches his jaw and breathes out sharply, irritation written on his face. “What are you, a child? It’s freezing. How long have you been out here?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says, shivering, his eyes tracing the shape of Castiel’s wings.

Castiel takes a breath, clearly trying to be patient. “I don’t know what this spell has done to you, aside from granting you multidimensional vision, but we need to get you inside,” he says. He takes off his trenchcoat and Dean watches with fascination as he removes it. The coat goes through his wings without issue, although both remain solid in appearance.

Castiel takes a step toward Dean and Dean takes a step backward.

“Dean, so help me—”

“Will you stay?”

“What?”

“If I go back to the cabin,” Dean says, teeth chattering, “will you stay.”

Castiel gives him an exasperated look, then relents as a violent shudder passes through Dean. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

“Okay,” Dean says tightly, nodding.

Castiel closes the distance between them and drops his coat around Dean’s hunched shoulders, then guides him to the path leading back up to the cabin.

It’s narrow, so Castiel walks in front of Dean, and his wings fill Dean’s line of sight. Dean can’t help but reach out and brush his hand over one of them.

Castiel whirls on him, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t do that,” he snaps.

Dean just nods, startled, and Castiel drops Dean’s wrist, then switches places with him and walks behind him the rest of the way.

* * *

When they get back to the cabin, the sun has disappeared below the horizon and the stars are coming out. The cabin is illuminated only by the fire, but it’s still blazing as fiercely as ever, so it’s enough; they don’t bother turning on any of the lights.

Dean sinks onto the couch with a low groan, the heat of the fire washing over him. He sits up against one arm of the couch, stretching out, pulling Castiel’s coat more firmly around him. Castiel wraps a blanket around his shoulders, then grabs another blanket from the back of a chair.

“Stop,” Dean says weakly, embarrassed.

“Be quiet,” Castiel says, leaning over Dean to tuck him in carefully.

Dean’s eyes are glued to Castiel’s wings. Within the confined space of the cabin, his wings look even bigger than they had outside, and they glisten in an interesting way in the light of the fire. Dean wants to get a closer look, but Castiel is moving purposefully around the cabin now, avoiding Dean’s eyes.

“It’s very warm in here,” Castiel says, removing his suit jacket—as with his trenchcoat, he’s able to take it off as if his wings aren’t even there. “Normally I wouldn’t be bothered by it,” Castiel murmurs as he rolls his sleeve cuffs, “but I think your magical fire is to blame.” Castiel loosens his tie and lowers the thermostat. Dean sits trembling on the couch, his jaw clenched against his still-chattering teeth.

“When you’ve warmed up, I’d like you to explain what’s going on,” Castiel says. He goes to the kitchen and begins looking through the cupboards.

Dean doesn’t say a single word as Castiel prepares dinner, but follows his every movement in the kitchen. He’s trying to wrap his head around the sight of Castiel, his incredible wings folded against his back, stirring sauce in a pan on the stove. Castiel ignores him the entire time. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d think Cas was making dinner for himself.

Dean gradually stops shivering and he removes the blankets, and then, with some reluctance, Castiel’s trenchcoat. He lays it gently over the back of the couch, and then takes off his own coat, shoving it aside.

Castiel comes back to the living room and wordlessly hands Dean a bowl of spaghetti, made the same way Dean makes it for them, with tomato sauce and basil leaves and a little Parmesan.

“Thank you,” Dean murmurs.

Castiel sits down in the armchair and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and gazes into the fire. His wings are still folded, arching over his back, but wherever they come into contact with the chair, they disappear.

Dean is trying to make sense of this when Castiel, not bothering to look at Dean, says quietly, “Stop staring at me and eat your dinner.”

Dean redirects his attention to his pasta and starts eating, aware of Castiel’s wings in the corner of his eye the whole time. As they sit there, the only sounds are the scrape of Dean’s fork against the bowl, and the snap and pop of the wood in the fireplace.

After he’s done, he sets the bowl aside and looks over at Castiel again, who is now watching Dean expressionlessly, waiting.

Dean clears his throat. “First of all, I just want to say that this whole thing was an accident.” Castiel doesn’t say anything, so Dean continues, relating the details about the spelled firewood and what he’d learned from Kaia on the phone.

“Um, and so far, the only way I seem to be affected is that I can see your wings,” Dean finishes, his face reddening.

Castiel remains silent for a moment. “So you’re saying that… everything down by the lake—that was just you,” he says evenly. “Not the spell, impairing your judgement.”

“Uh, yes. Yeah. Just me.”

Castiel nods once, thoughtfully, but Dean can’t begin to guess at what he’s thinking.

Dean pushes himself forward to sit on the edge of the couch, unable to help himself. “How do they…” He gestures. “How do they do that?”

Castiel’s expression softens. “What, pass through things?” He stretches them out slightly, making them do just that.

Dean is fascinated by the movement and it takes him a second to answer. “Yeah.”

Castiel folds his wings tightly again and thinks about it, then eventually he says, “They’re part of my true form—scaled to a sensible size for my vessel—and they don’t exist on this plane of reality. They’re connected to me so I can move them, and I feel them as a part of me, but I don’t feel them passing through this chair, for example. They don’t interact with anything that exists here.”

“Then how come I was able to touch them earlier?” Dean asks.

Castiel looks away, into the fire. “I’m guessing it’s the spell,” he says with an impatient little sigh. “Why don’t you go to bed?”

“What? It’s not even seven.”

“Go to bed anyway.”

“I took a five-hour nap earlier!” Dean pauses. “I do kinda wanna take a hot shower, though.”

“You go do that,” Castiel says, clasping and unclasping his hands, still not looking at Dean.

Dean stands and then hesitates. “You’ll still be here? When I get out?”

Castiel sighs and drags his eyes to Dean’s. “Yes, I’ll still be here,” he says wearily. “I said I would stay, so I’ll stay.”

Dean takes possibly the fastest shower of his life. Afterward, he fixes his hair carefully, and then messes it up a little so it doesn’t look like he spent as much time on it as he actually did. The cabin really is incredibly warm, so he pulls on jeans and a clean T-shirt and walks barefoot back to the living room, where it appears as though Castiel hasn’t moved a muscle since he left.

Dean settles himself back on the couch but Castiel doesn’t look over at him, just keeps staring into the fire. So Dean takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of his wings. Though they are tightly folded, the firelight illuminates a subtle shimmer; it reminds Dean of the fragile, opal sheen of a soap bubble. And although Castiel is sitting still as a statue, his wings move infinitesimally from time to time, in the same sort of way a person might make small involuntary movements, or shift to get more comfortable.

“Can I touch them?”

Castiel looks at Dean and his posture goes rigid. He tucks his wings in still more tightly. “No.”

“Why?”

Castiel briefly clenches his jaw and his voice is patient but strained. “Because like I said before, they’re part of my _true form_.”

Dean takes this in. “So they’re like, _you_ -you?”

“Yes!”

“So how come I can’t touch them?”

“Dean.” Castiel shoots Dean a look, as if Dean is failing to understand something very simple.

“Earlier…”

Castiel makes a frustrated sound and gets up to start pacing around. His wings are fully visible again now that they’re not passing through the chair, and Dean’s eyes sweep over them. Even when they’re folded, they’re so big they nearly brush the floor.

Dean tries again. “Earlier—”

“Dean!” Castiel says, exasperated. “It’s _intimate_!”

Dean’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Oh, shit, like… like _that_? Is touching, like, a thing? Did I do something wrong?” He stands up and takes a step toward Castiel, but then thinks maybe he shouldn’t, so he stops. “I’m sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” Castiel says. He stops pacing, but he’s looking anywhere but at Dean. “I know you didn’t. It’s not like ‘that,’ not exactly. And you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just…” He puts a hand on the mantel and leans against it, continuing to avoid Dean’s eyes.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft. “I’ve been in this vessel for so long that in a way, it feels like my body. But my wings are still a part of me. They’re a part of my true form, and to know that you can see them, or touch them, when normally you can’t… it’s…” He takes a deep breath and says, “It’s _profoundly_ intimate.” He sighs and looks over at Dean, and there’s a nakedness to his expression that makes Dean swallow hard.

And there’s an understanding rising in him, and his face flushes.

“Cas…” Dean murmurs. He looks at Cas—really looks at him, and Castiel gazes back at him. His brows are pulled together in a faint frown, lips parted as he draws a deep, slow breath. His hair is mussed like always, the blue of his eyes is brilliant in the light of the fire, and there’s a shadow of stubble along his jaw. His familiar tie is loosened; the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled to the elbows. One hand grips the mantel, the other is a loose fist at his side. And he is framed by the heart shape of his folded wings, part of his true form. They are magnificent. _Cas_ is magnificent.

“I never…” Dean swallows and takes a deep breath. “I never thought of your wings as a part of you,” he says. “I know that sounds stupid, but you know—I’m not always the brightest guy—”

“Dean, that’s not true,” Castiel says, his face softening.

“No, let me finish,” Dean says, holding up a hand. “I was a dick to you, after you got your wings back, and I’m sorry.” He wants to explain further, but he shuts his mouth. A good apology doesn’t make excuses.

“I appreciate that,” Castiel says, and he looks away from Dean. “I was… very hurt. I thought you’d be happy for me. And you weren’t, and I couldn’t understand why, because I remember… when Bobby lost the use of his legs, you were sympathetic. You understood his frustration, and then you were happy for him when his ability to walk was restored. But you weren’t happy for me.”

Dean’s heart is beating hard and his voice comes out in a whisper. “I was scared you’d leave. And then… you did leave.”

“I left _because_ you were a dick to me,” Castiel says gently, looking at Dean with his eyebrows raised. “I thought you didn’t want me around.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says again. “That’s not how I felt. At all.” He shakes his head. “I actually really like it when you’re around. I like being around you.” He hesitates, then adds softly, “And I kinda hate it when you leave.”

Understanding passes over Castiel’s face. “That’s why you asked me to stay, earlier.”

Dean nods.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel says quietly.

They regard each other for a long moment.

“Okay,” Dean says. “Good. That’s good.” He takes a deep breath and sits down on the couch, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. His heart is still pounding in his chest.

Castiel pushes himself away from the mantel and crosses the room to the table in the kitchen, where he picks up a chair. Watching him, Dean wonders what he’s going to do with it, and then he brings it back to the living area. Dean looks up in surprise as Castiel turns it around and places it squarely in front of Dean, then straddles it.

He meets Dean’s eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is soft. “I like being around you, too.”

Dean’s eyes are locked on Castiel’s and in his peripheral vision he sees Castiel’s wings unfurl completely. Castiel places his forearms on the back of the chair and leans forward until his chest is braced against it; his tie dangles over it and brushes Dean’s knees.

Dean has forgotten how to breathe.

He stares into Cas’ eyes. “Can I…?” he whispers.

Castiel nods.

Dean looks at Castiel’s wings, at the way the firelight dances over the dark, shimmering feathers, and then he lifts a tentative hand to place it on Cas’ wing. He glances at Cas and his eyes are closed.

“Is this okay?” Dean murmurs.

“Yes,” Castiel whispers.

Dean runs his hand lightly along the firm edge that reminds him of a bicep, and he feels Cas pressing his wing back into his touch.

Dean lifts his other hand and strokes the same path gently along Cas’ other wing.

“You don’t have to be delicate,” Castiel says, keeping his eyes closed. He flexes his wings easily. “They’re very sturdy, I promise.”

So Dean grips harder, feeling the firm tendon beneath the feathers, and smooths his hands over the insides of the wings. He runs his fingers through Cas’ feathers, revels in the way they feel against his palms.

Castiel sighs softly and rests his cheek on his wrist, eyes still closed. Dean looks at him and he seems to be mostly at ease, except for the way his hands are gripping the chair and the way his breathing doesn’t seem entirely relaxed. _It’s profoundly intimate_ , Cas had said. Dean’s heart rate isn’t exactly normal right now, either.

Dean begins tracing the different feather segments with his fingers, and after a few minutes, apparently able to tell what Dean is doing, Castiel lifts his head and opens his eyes, watching Dean’s hand as he places it on the portion of his wing that’s like a shoulder.

“Those are the scapular feathers,” Castiel says. He lifts his hand and gestures to the next segment. “Marginal coverts.”

Dean moves his hand to the next segment and says, “Alulas.” He shifts his hand again. “Primary coverts.” He stretches to stroke his hand all the way down the final segment. “Primaries.” He enjoys the look of faint wonder on Castiel’s face. “I like the primaries. They’re big and cool,” he says, with a smile that’s a little bashful.

“I didn’t know you knew anything about wing anatomy,” Castiel says.

“Well,” Dean says conversationally, going back to stroking Castiel’s wings. “I met this guy once. And he was just about the weirdest thing I’d ever come across, and you know I’ve come across some weird things in my life. I haven’t known him for five minutes before he’s showing off his big huge wings,” Dean says with a grin. “I was curious and did a little research.” He shrugs.

Castiel lets out a soft laugh. “I was showing off, huh?”

“Yeah, you were. Admit it.”

“Maybe I was a little.”

“Had to strike the fear of God into me,” Dean says, smiling.

Castiel returns his smile. “And look where that got us.”

“Yeah,” Dean says softly, pulling his hands from Castiel’s wings. “Look at us now.”

They fall silent, each of them caught in the other’s gaze, and Dean says, “You’re beautiful, Castiel.”

Castiel swallows. “Dean…”

Dean’s fingers find Castiel’s dangling tie and he grips it, tugging slightly as he leans forward, closing the distance between them. 

Dean pauses, lips parted, looking into Cas’ eyes. He draws a shallow breath. They could stop right now, back away from all of it. Dean licks his lips, and Cas glances down, watches the movement of Dean’s tongue before letting his eyes travel slowly back up to Dean’s, and Dean can feel Cas’ warm breath on his lips as Cas exhales, leaning just a little bit closer.

Dean doesn’t want to back away.

His eyes slide closed as their noses brush, and then they’re kissing.

They’re kissing, and it’s soft and slow.

Castiel places a warm hand on Dean’s cheek, and Dean reaches for Castiel’s shoulder and his hand grazes feathers. He opens his mouth to Castiel’s tongue, and grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him closer, as close as the chair between them will allow.

Castiel breaks away with a gasp and Dean makes a small sound of protest, but Castiel stands, and Dean follows. Castiel shoves the chair away from them and it clatters to the floor but Dean doesn’t care because Cas is grabbing him at the same time Dean is reaching for him. Their mouths find each other again, their kisses hot and urgent.

Castiel pulls his lips from Dean’s to press them to his throat, and Dean gasps, tilting his head back. “You are the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met,” Castiel says raggedly, between kisses.

Dean’s hands are moving over Castiel’s body, grasping at him roughly, and when he reaches his shoulders, he tugs. “Please,” he says breathlessly.

Castiel gets the message and he guides Dean down to the warm floor in front of the fire, one knee on either side of Dean’s hips. Dean looks up at Cas. Cas’ eyes are bright and dazed, his lips parted as he breathes hard. His shirt is creased from Dean’s fists and his tie is in disarray. Cas’ wings are extended behind him, glimmering and astounding, and Dean knows he will remember this image forever.

He pulls Castiel to him, runs one hand through Cas’ hair, the other through whatever feathers he can reach, and kisses him deeply.

* * *

Castiel brushes a hand over Dean’s hair. “Look,” he says softly.

They’re in bed, Dean lying on his back and Castiel next to him on his stomach, so Dean can run his hands over Cas’ wings. The fire is still going strong in the living room and its light just touches the doorway, but the bedroom is comfortably cool and shrouded in blue-tinged shadows.

Dean turns his head and sees that snow has begun to fall in thick, whirling flakes. He smiles. “Good thing I’ve got you here to keep me warm,” he murmurs.

“Yes, that is my sole purpose,” Castiel says dryly.

“You really are nice and warm,” Dean says, pressing more tightly into Castiel’s side. He lifts a hand and strokes it lazily down the edge of Castiel’s wing. He freezes mid-movement, then looks at Castiel and says, “You gotta let me call you Hot Wings.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Come on, it’s so perfect.”

“I don’t care.”

“They are hot, though,” Dean says with a grin.

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “I did pick up on the fact that you like them.”

They fall silent for a moment and then Dean feels a sadness stir inside him.

“I’m not going to be able to see them after the spell wears off,” he says quietly.

Castiel heaves a thoughtful sigh next to him, then says, “If Rowena could make a spell that enabled you to see and touch them in the first place, I’m sure she can make a spell for that, specifically.”

Dean turns to look at Castiel. “Yeah?”

“I’m fairly certain she’s the most powerful witch in the world at this point,” Castiel says. He shrugs a shoulder and one of his wings flutters in a lazy mimicry of the movement.

“What if she could spell, like… a pendant, or something,” Dean ponders. “So it’s not an all-the-time thing. When I put it on, I can see your wings—just yours, no one else’s. When I take it off, it’s, y’know, like normal.”

“Would you like that?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah. If you’re okay with it,” Dean says. “I’d really like that.”

Castiel smiles. “We can ask her.”

“In the meantime,” Dean says, rolling over to face Castiel, “we’re staying here until that fire burns out.” He kisses Castiel, long and slow. “And after that,” he murmurs, nuzzling Cas and kissing him again, “we’ll go home.”

Castiel lifts a hand, strokes his thumb across Dean’s cheek. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says, smiling, and Dean smiles back.

They lie together, and Castiel drapes his wing over Dean. Dean combs his fingers gently through Cas’ feathers, and he thinks about home. Their home. A little farmhouse in the country, no more than what they need, with the people they love most close by. A place where Jack can talk to the plants and keep his rock collection, where Castiel reads quietly, where they all eat dinner together. Where Dean can pull in the driveway, knowing they’ll be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading ❤️️
> 
> [You can find me on tumblr](https://theirprofoundbond.tumblr.com)—feel free to say hi anytime! [Here’s a tumblr post for this fic](https://theirprofoundbond.tumblr.com/post/638612672563314688) if you want to like or reblog. I've also written an [“extended author’s notes” post](https://theirprofoundbond.tumblr.com/post/638766151064862720)—my reflections on the experience of writing this story, if you’re into that kind of thing.
> 
> Time for some bonus material!
> 
> * * *
> 
> You can find a short playlist for this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/48fgNrPRfMPiaNxIQbVS9c?si=wWQfoG7eSxSTyL-gud8gsA). Below are the song titles and the scenes I imagined them being paired with.
> 
>   * The Way Home: Dean’s drive back from the Michigan hunt, and getting home.
>   * Immanuel: First scene of Part III— _the_ scene!
>   * Body: Cas to Dean.
>   * Body: When Dean _really_ looks at Cas, in front of the fireplace.
>   * Pieces: Dean to Cas.
>   * Let Me Touch Your Fire: Touching Cas’ wings/first kiss.
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
> The book that Alex gives Dean is real. I highly recommend Rukmini Iyer’s books: _Dinner’s in the Oven_ series if you’re in the US/using American or Imperial measurements, _Roasting Tin_ series if you’re in the UK/using metric measurements. Beautiful books, and easy, delicious recipes.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Here’s Alex’s brownie recipe: [yum](https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/68436/vegan-brownies)!
> 
> * * *
> 
> These references for wings were immensely helpful while I was writing this story: [Wings on Humans](https://ragswarrior.wordpress.com/2014/02/28/wings-on-humans) and [Avian Wing Anatomy](https://www.deviantart.com/atethirteen/art/Avian-Wing-Anatomy-265507005).
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you again for reading!


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